


Can't Change My Ways

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-21
Updated: 2010-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this meme:<br/>1. Pick a character, pairing, or whatever you like.<br/>2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.<br/>3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterward! <br/>4. Do ten of these, then post them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Change My Ways

**Author's Note:**

> The only cheats I did was some cleaning up for grammar and spelling, and skipping over some songs that were really not suitable. I have lots of soundtracks and strange sound experiment stuff.

1\. Basket Case – Green Day

"Watson, do you have the time to listen, of course you have the time, because you would make the time, wouldn't you, and you've nothing better to do aside from see patients who are all boring I'm sure, but you have the time to listen to me whine, except I don't whine, I'm just talking, and do you remember when you said I was a melodramatic fool? I still think I was being perfectly reasonable, and just because I am not a neurotic to the bone like one of your patients does not mean you can ignore me… sometimes, I give myself the creeps, thinking about that time… sometime, I think my mind is playing tricks on me, which is not at all a comfortable sensation…"

Watson pulled his hands down his face, over his eyes. "Holmes, it's 4 in the morning, and I haven't a clue what you are on this time. I'm going back to sleep,"

*

2\. Starlight - Muse

His hope is like a black hole in his chest, drowning the heartbeat, sucking the cocaine in until it doesn't even effect him, pulling down his mind in a futile attempt to fill such emptiness, losing bits and pieces of information. He can't remember what he's lost, but it must be important, and Watson is still staring at him, the revelation hanging in the air between them, a tangible thing, a terrible thing, desperation having ripped the words out of Holmes, and he closes his eyes, expecting the worst, expecting any second now to hear the sound of footsteps fading, expecting Watson to leave, to leave and never turn back, never come back, and then his expectations are shattered by the breath against his lips.

He opens his eyes to be overwhelmed by Watson, only a breath away, an inch away, a distance of zero apart from him, and Watson murmurs an exaltation against his lips, and then they are conspiring together to ignite the souls of all the half dead hopes within each other.

*

3\. Liar – Three Dog Night

Holmes, Watson thinks, is an accomplished liar. He has perfected the art of half truths and denials and lies by omission, but he is still an astonishingly good straight liar. He has even, somehow, managed to lie to himself. He tells himself he doesn't want Watson to go, but every action, every half voiced thought, every refusal to acknowledge what lies between them only pushes Watson further and further away. If he had his choice he would never leave, he would never allow anything to push him away, staying as long as Holmes wants him to, but it is becoming obvious Holmes cannot stand the sight of him and Watson cannot stand it anymore. He must leave; he does not even know if he can, for Holmes has stolen his mind, his heart and his soul, and Watson has only his body left to wrench away. Maybe he can continue without those things, a form of skin and muscle and bone and memories. Maybe. He has to try.

*

4\. The 59th Street Bridge Song – Simon and Garfunkel

"Hello, Mr. Lamppost, what are you doing, have you any news for me today?"

"Holmes, you are talking to a lamppost, please come inside. And you wonder why I am so vehemently opposed to your cocaine."

"But Watson, he is about impart some vital information to me…"

"It can wait. Come on, back inside."

"Perhaps you are right. I am feeling rather drowsy. I think a lie down is in order."

"Yes. Please."

*

5\. Build Me Up Buttercup – Loving Spoonful

"What do you think, Watson?"

"Well, it appears from the marks on the ground that he pauses here for a short time before continuing, which suggest that perhaps he was not entirely sure of himself… Holmes. You are smirking. Where have I gone wrong this time?"

"Everywhere, I am afraid."

"Why do you even bother asking me if you are just going to mock me?"

"Why, Watson, I would never do such a thing. Indeed, the implausible deductions you create have a way of leading me in quite the proper direction. It is invaluable."

Watson regards Holmes with cheeks flushed from a combination of embarrassment, and anger before he sighs and gathers his dignity. "Very well Holmes, what have I missed in this situation?"

*

6\. No. 4 in G II. Andante Brandenburg Concertos - Bach

At the first hesitant, haunting strains, Watson raises his head from the paper he has buried it in, trying to pretend Holmes was not sawing away at that damned violin. This was entirely unlike anything he had so far played this morning. It was melancholy and slow, a twining of minor notes and descending intervals. Trembling notes distanced themselves from one another, a menacing variation sneaking in and twisting the notes subtly into the sound of approaching London fog, filled with terrors, the last notes hanging like men on gibbets, refusing to fade into the distant land of memory. Holmes stood frozen, gazing out the window, lost in some thought. Watson, reluctant to disturb him, barely breathed, but Holmes came back to himself suddenly, with a shuddering breath and regarded the violin with something akin to astonishment for a moment before he launched into another one of his tuneless scrapings. Watson sighed. He supposed it had been too good to last

*

7\. Ships are Sailing/Morning Dew – Blackberry Blossom

Holmes is dancing in the ring, chest bared and slicked with sweat, his opponent a lumbering fool next to his slight strength. He counters crude swinging blows of meaty fists with direct, elegant rebuttals, jabs and prods and slight adjustments of balance, never quite there, sliding under each blow like liquid. Watson is used to being caught up in the fight, the motion of it, but now he is caught up in the motion of Holmes, the economy of movement, the subtleness, and Holmes is playing with this man as he does with them all, a plan in his mind to end this fight at any moment, should he chose. Watson is reminded of all the times Holmes toys with him and is overwhelmed by a sudden desire to see the other man win.

*

8\. Bang Bang – Nancy Sinatra

The gunshots are loud in the containment of the alley, and Holmes is rushing forward, dodging, feeling no splintering of bones or flow of blood, catching the villain a blow, driving him back until he stumbles and falls, one more heavy blow to bring swift unconsciousness, and he is turning grinning to Watson…

To Watson…

Watson, who was behind him, who is on the filthy ground, who is gasping terrible wet breaths as the blood soaks his coat and pools beneath him. Holmes feels his grin turn to a skull's mask and in three rushing steps he is at Watson's side, hands sliding in the mess, searching for a solution, and Watson is grasping at him, weakly, saying Holmes, Holmes, there's nothing, Holmes, leave it, coughing, lips red, as red as after a particularly brutal kiss, and Watson is fading before him, a puzzle he cannot seem to solve; time is running out, and Watson raises one shaky hand to his face and says, Holmes, in a voice that is apology and despair and painful revelation honed sharp.

When the policemen find them, there is blood on Holmes' lips.

*

9\. Open Up Your Heart – Kitty Wells

The devil will never find you if you let the sunshine in.

Holmes has heard this, along with others along the lines of idle hands and troubled minds, but he knows the devil has entered his heart and claimed it for his own long, long ago. He wraps his idle hands around Watson's hips, and his lips around Watson's cock in the stifling darkness, windows swathed by heavy drapes. Watson would twitch them aside, would expose him to the harsh sunlight, but Holmes likes it better here, as he is, a taste of Hell before he reaches it, sharp on his tongue.

*

10\. Bittersweet Symphony – The Verve

It is bittersweet, having both Holmes and Mary. They have reached a sort of compromise, patched together out of a reluctant acknowledgement that no one was happy as they were. Out of a realization on the part of all parties that any one with the others is only a part of a person. They do not exist without each other, and though there is no place in society for such an arrangement, they are trying to find a place for it to fit into their lives. Some days, when the skin around Mary's eyes is tight and her words are carefully measured, when Holmes is particularly manic and unable to bring himself to stillness even surrounded by Watson on all sides, Watson knows that the problem is not Holmes or Mary, but himself. He realizes the burden he is placing on them, the way he is crushing them, is turning them into something they never intended to be. But they are showing themselves willing to change, and Watson cannot change himself. He has already been down the road of failure that lies in that direction, and he is grateful that these two people love him enough to travel that road for him.


End file.
